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- 1837
- SONNET- TO ZANTE
- by Edgar Allan Poe
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- Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
- Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
- How many memories of what radiant hours
- At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
- How many scenes of what departed bliss!
- How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
- How many visions of a maiden that is
- No more- no more upon thy verdant slopes!
- No more! alas, that magical sad sound
- Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more-
- Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
- Henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore,
- O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
- "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"
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- -THE END-
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